


Compare and Contrast

by contronym



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-21
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5778547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/contronym/pseuds/contronym
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>how many parallels can be drawn between you and the engineer?</p><p>how many run right through you both?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compare and Contrast

**Author's Note:**

> sidenote: I like to use the letter "c" to title stories, apparently

 

 

Etched deep into your genealogy, you are both ascribed a set of predetermined duties and titles, simply as a result of being born:  
  
She is eventually to acquire Future Industries, and you will soon inherit the past lives of thousands.  
  
In the meantime, she busies herself with braiding her mother's hair and designing miniature carburetors, while you track down and train an otherwise wild polar bear-dog cub.  

 

And you both believe that, in a toddler’s day's work - and with no knowledge of how your paths are fated to cross - this is all that there is.  And neither of you would have it any other way.

 

 

* * *

 

   
  
You each learn to read and write - she develops beautiful, poignant penmanship, something that you will commit to memory and become increasingly appreciative of, later.

 

 

* * *

 

  
You discover that you can bend, and she accepts that she never will.

  
(You realize after a certain drag car race that perhaps there are more thrilling things in life than bending, anyway - that there are moments and circumstances and fingertips that will make your heart race faster than any firefight.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

She lives in a luxurious mansion, while you hide out in a tundra-tucked compound.

 

(As a teenager, her desperate for a mother’s perfume to cling to hallway curtains once more, she dreams of returning to the estate that will inevitably betray her, while you yearn to be anywhere else but the fortress guaranteed to protect you.)

 

 

* * *

 

  
You have your parents, and she does not.  
  
You wish futilely for the power to change such a thing, but bending can only do so much.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You each fall for Mako.  
  
It marks the first and last time you both get distracted chasing the same person; soon enough, you begin to focus on chasing the same thing, instead.

 

 

* * *

 

  
She knows how to drive, and you may never learn.  
  
But she doesn’t only know _how_ to drive – she drives _exceptionally_ well.  And not just cars, either.  Boats and airships, too.  Naga and Oogi.  She drives her life, her ethics, and her integrity with prowess and determination, never letting go of the wheel.

 

Most importantly, she drives her smile straight into your chest, bright red lips leaving a dimpled imprint on the surface of your heart.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You begin to seek out seats next to her during meetings and dinners, easily relenting if there are no apparent vacancies.  However, in the event that _she_ cannot procure an open seat next to the Avatar, the engineer has no problem creating one, hip leaning against the arm of your chair, hand resting atop your shoulder.

 

(This is a habit she has yet to out-live, and you not-so-secretly hope she never does – especially these days, the gesture now accompanied with a visit from her lips to your cheek.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

You both write letters, though she sends you sixty-one pages of parchment while you get out a meager eight sentences.  

  
(Sometimes, she places her book or wrench down, grabbing for your hand and squeezing to remind you that she understood then - that she appreciates that you replied when you were able. She tapers off, professing that she is so proud of you, and is honored to be able to love you exactly as you are.  And you are made suddenly aware that, even without penning any words, she always knows what to say to make messages settle beneath your ribs forever.)

 

 

* * *

 

  
You both sport long hair, until _you_ don’t.  Until your haunted history becomes too much to bear and you have to slice it off somehow, separating yourself from the traumatic loss of your past lives, Raava, and all who love you.  
  
You wonder how she manages to keep hers so long - if, instead, maybe she did the opposite, growing hers out years ago to cope with painful memories of childhood and non-permanence.  
  
Or perhaps she cuts something else - severs something hidden from view, when her father passes away.  Something that only she knows has snapped clear in half.

  
(Even after all this time, you are still working to figure this one out.  But you notice midnights when she wakes up too early, or afternoons when she is so distracted that she forgets to hang her briefcase in the closet, and you try your best to be there for her the way she is always there for you.)

 

 

* * *

 

 

You ask to continue dancing, but she claims to be "all danced out."

You can't help but wonder if she means dancing around the wedding reception plaza, or dancing around something else entirely.

  

You decide to find out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You discover that she wants to run away to the Spirit World, and she realizes you want to be the one to take her.

Neither of you protest.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Surrounded by Spirit World flora and fauna, she announces, simply, “I’d like to kiss you, sometime. If you are interested." She meets your eyes and amends with, "When you are ready.”

Moments later, for the first time, you find yourself wearing her lipstick while she is left with none on at all.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I still have nightmares,” you warn self-consciously, feet pooled in her sheets as you tug on your pajama top.

 Shadows dance across her skin as she pulls you down into her chest, lips finding your shoulder before admitting, “Me too.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“I want you,” you finally manage to growl out, teeth ground together as you search her eyes for permission in the darkness of your room, your hands fisted into her hair.

Chest heaving, she responds lowly, still without missing a beat, “Come have me, then.”

Dark lips and palms contrast against her bare stomach, bare torso, bare thighs, until your pulses are comparable, hearts racing to a rhythm only you two know. 

 

* * *

 

 

You are warmly reminded, after a short trip to the Southern Water Tribe, that you have incredibly loving parents.  

And, now, once more, so does she.

 

 

* * *

 

 

You run hot, and she runs cold.

She runs along the pier, and you run atop spirit vines.

You run between two worlds, and she runs a globalized industry. 

 

She runs her lips across your knuckles, and you run your fingers through her hair.

 

You run to her, and she runs to you, until everything you are runs together in an array of colors, histories, and destinies alike.

 

And neither of you would have it any other way.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Just another one-sitting, no-editing session where I try to compose something close to 1000 words. Will probably come back to edit this soon, maybe? (listen to me lie to you all)
> 
> As always, thanks for reading. <3


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